


For The Want Of A Tin

by nomical



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Dinner, Comedy, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical/pseuds/nomical
Summary: Leon, a professional chef, spends the whole year cooking for everyone else. His friends decide to give him a break on Christmas and cook the dinner for him in secret. Enter Arthur as the distraction. Wacky hi-jinks straight out of a Lifetime movie follow.(Featuring Leon and Arthur's magical friendship with background pairings of Leon x Morgana and Arthur x Merlin)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vix_spes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/gifts).



> Happy Holidays vix_spes! I read your first prompt and knew that was the one for me. I'm glad I finally got the chance to write for you and I hope you enjoy your gift!
> 
> Kudos to V and A for the quick beta! All mistakes and fictional liberties are my own. Thanks to the mods for being top notch as always. A special thanks to E for brainstorming increasingly silly situations for poor Leon to get stuck in. And the obligatory: this particular rendition of the Arthurian legend characters belongs to Shine and the BBC. Sadly I make zero profit off this.

The sky outside was still dark when Leon entered the kitchen. This was less a testament of his dedication to his chosen craft of cooking, but more a reflection on the sunless void that enveloped the United Kingdom every winter. It was just gone 7:30 am and Leon was washed, brushed, and after a hastily sliced banana and some oatmeal, fed. As he sipped his coffee (black, two sugars) he studied the A4 sheet of paper in front of him titled: Christmas Dinner Battleplan. Morgana had laughed at him for being dramatic, but with the amount of cooking he had to do today, calling it anything else would be an insult.

_8:00 – Remove strings/organ pouch from bird and pre-heat oven to medium heat_

_8:02 – Inspect cavity and estimate stuffing capacity_

_8:05 – Prep stuffing (see Appendix A: Recipes: Stuffing)_

_8:20 – Begin stuffing bird and truss_

_8:30 – Baste bird_

_8:35 – Bird in oven_

Frowning, he fished the pencil out from above his ear and made an adjustment to his times; better to give himself an even forty to get the bird prepped and in the oven. The first of several alarms began to blast from his phone and he took his dishes to the sink. 7:50 – the countdown was on.

Leon worked contentedly for the first twenty minutes. Morgana was away on a last-minute conference (though not without a lot of shouting first, ‘who organizes a summit the week of _Christmas?’_ ) and the house was quiet. This didn’t bother him, in fact it was a welcome break to cook in peace without the clang of pots and the shouts of his staff around him. Working alone let him set his own pace, even if that pace was a tad demanding. There was no getting around it though, his Christmas parties had become the talk of legend among their friends, and refused to under deliver. Sure, he usually relied on Morgana for company and the occasional chopping, but Arthur had volunteered to take her place this year and it would give them the chance to check in on how the renovations were going. He’d been out of London most of the week sourcing walk-in fridges up north and was shamefully unaware of the state of their project.

Feeding upwards of a dozen people in one go was no small feat. It required a mastery of time management, organizational skills, and a massive shopping trip done the day before. After returning from the store, Leon had very carefully unloaded all the tins onto the counter and lined them up according to type, creating what he thought to be an eye pleasing effect. It was then he’d discovered the awful truth; he was short one tin of cranberries. Merlin, who had been kind enough to volunteer as bag carrier, had double-checked the receipt and they were indeed down one tin that they’d been charged for. Assuring Leon that he would stop at the store on his way home and send the errant tin over with Arthur the next day, Merlin had left Leon to spend the rest of his night cleaning the kitchen.

To say that Leon thought no more about the cranberry situation would be a lie: he liked order and routine, and as much as he liked his almost brother-in-law (which was quite a lot) order and routine were not two words that could be easily applied to Merlin. Nevertheless, in the light of day his prickles of worry felt very silly. Arthur was due to arrive at any moment, tin in hand, and everything could continue on schedule.

Which was when his phone rang.

Drying his hands, Leon hurried to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” said Arthur.

“Hey,” Leon replied cautiously. “Are you on your way yet?”

“I am, but here’s the thing-”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t sound so disapproving, you don’t even know what I’m going to say yet!”

“Fair. Continue.”

“So Merlin went back to Sainsbury’s last night and they were completely out of cranberries.”

“What?” Leon gasped.

“Yeah, apparently they had some kind of flash sale right after you two left and the entire aisle was empty.”

“Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Because he didn’t want to worry you over something as silly as a condiment,” Arthur snorted.

“They aren’t a condiment, they’re a side dish. And that doesn’t explain why you’re only just calling to tell me about it now.”

“Ah, well see, he texted me about it last night and I told him not to worry; I’d pick some up on my way in. Only I’ve been to three shops already and none of them have any. Not even any off-brand ones. Apparently the flash sale was held all across the city.”

Leon braced himself against the counter. “Shit.”

“I can hear you panicking so quit it, I’ve already come up with a solution. I called around and there’s exactly one shop in the city that still has cranberries, but none of the brand you want.”

“I can’t mix the brands, that would completely throw off the flavours!”

“Well it’s that you serve dry, sauceless turkey.”

“My turkey isn’t dry!”

“All turkey is dry, don’t take it personally. Look, why don’t you meet me at the store. You can scour the shelves for the least offensive substitution and if it turns out wrong you can blame me.”

Leon barked out a humourless laugh. “Are you insane? I’ve got this entire day planned to the minute, I can’t just leave.”

“This is where the second part of my brilliant plan kicks in: Merlin is currently in an Uber on his way to your flat so he can take over some of the prep work while you’re out.”

“But-”

“Don’t argue, he’s probably halfway there by now.”

“How did you have time to plan all this out?” asked Leon, feeling suddenly suspicious.

“I’ve already had like, three coffees this morning and I’m wired. Now get your coat on, I’m texting you the address as we speak.”

“I don’t-”

“Leon, it’s a quick trip to the shop while Merlin holds down the fort. We’ll have you back in the kitchen quick as a flash: what could go wrong?”

***

Forty minutes later, it turned out quite a lot could go wrong. Apparently, ten minutes before they got there, the shop Arthur had called had been visited by a charity organization who all but cleaned out the condiment section (Leon was so shocked he didn’t even have time to bristle at them stocking cranberries in the condiment aisle). After pulling literally every tin off the shelf to see if any had been stocked in the wrong row, the manager had personally gone to the stock room where he found the singular last tin of cranberries. It was off-brand, but at this point, Leon couldn’t quibble. The manager had been very apologetic about the whole thing, pressing a pack of Christmas flavoured beef jerky into their hands by way of apology. What made the beef jerky ‘Christmas’ flavoured, Leon hoped he would never find out.

To make matters worse, Arthur’s phone rang while he was fighting with the self-checkout machine with news from Merlin: the stove wouldn’t turn on. Leon, who at this point was minutes away from a nervous break down, had to talk him through a very hurried troubleshoot of the stove while Arthur frantically googled DIY stores.

Which is how they ended up on a bus, headed even further away from Leon’s flat, to the one DIY store open on Christmas Eve that carried the part necessary for the repair.

“Cheer up Leon,” said Arthur heartily as the bus pulled away from the curb. “It’s like we’re on a quest to save Christmas!”

Leon groaned. “This isn’t a quest, this is my nightmare.”

“Do you want me to distract you?”

“Please.”

“I think Mordred is going to tell Freya how he feels.”

“Oh thank God!” said Leon, genuinely relieved. “They’ve been making eyes at each other for ages. What makes you think now is going to be the time?”

“It’s just something he said over lunch the other day. It was vague, because of course he still thinks we’re all in the dark about it, but I think he’s at his breaking point.”

“It’s cute that he thinks we don’t know.”

“Maybe I should tell him about how I woo’d Merlin,” Arthur mused. “He didn’t hang around with us back then.”

Leon snorted, earning him a side-eye from the granny with the shopping bags beside them.

“How precisely did you ‘woo’, Merlin?”

“I sat him down and I said, Merlin m’lad, I’m absolutely besotted with you. We shall have a spring wedding, our colours will be blue and yellow, and we’ll honeymoon in Rome. And he turned around and said the wedding will be in summer, our colours will be red and silver, and we’ll honeymoon in Spain, but you’ve got everything else right.”

Leon stared at him in disbelief. “That’s not what happened at all. You cried your way through all of uni over him. The only reason you got together is because he found you crying in the loo after he came back from a date.”

“That’s the story I plan on telling our children and I’ll thank you to stick to it.”

“You better tell them the truth,” Leon warned. “They’ll have a much easier time of it in life if they learn that their Dad is a massive loser early on.”

“Shut up.”

Leon watched out the window as the bus ground to a halt outside a shopping center. On the lower deck, a single mother struggled to get a double-wide stroller on the bus until a girl with a soft pink undercut helped her lift it.

“Are you and Merlin really thinking about kids already?” asked Leon, watching as the girl handed the mother her shopping bag.

“What? God no, not yet. Merlin’s still chugging away on his PhD and I’m about to go into massive amounts of debt to get the shop opened. Why, are you and Morgana thinking about it?” Arthur countered.

“We aren’t even married mate.”

“So? It’s the twenty-first century and we both know my sister is a modern woman.”

“That doesn’t mean I am. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m about to go into debt with you for the shop. Morgana brings in a decent wage, but it’s nowhere near enough to support a family.”

“Then why ask?”

“I don’t know,” Leon sighed. “I suppose I feel like we’ve lost touch a bit. All we talk about is the shop – which, fair – but I can’t remember the last time we sat down to just watch a game or go for a drink without it turning into a business meeting.”

Arthur turned sideways to look at him properly. “Leon, this sudden outpouring of feelings is very un-British of you.”

“Shut up.” Leon rolled his eyes.

“No really, I’m touched. You’re breaking social convention, in public, I might add.”

“My stove is broken,” Leon grumbled. “I think I deserve to be a little maudlin.”

“I’ll give you that,” Arthur conceded. “And you’re not wrong in feeling out of touch. We’ve been focused on the shop for so long that it’s hard to see beyond it. Side note: why the fuck did we think it was a good idea to renovate over the holiday season?”

“I think it was your idea. Something about having lots of time over the break.”

“Ugh. In future, please remind me how colossally bad of an idea it is to try to get anything done in the month of December.”

“Noted.”

“And while you’re taking notes, let's make a New Year’s Resolution.”

“What, right now?”

“Why not?”

“It’s not even Christmas yet.”

“Tomatoes, tamatoes,” Arthur shrugged. “Besides, this is important. Obviously the shop is a priority for us – both for our very tangible livelihoods and our intangible sense of pride and success, but I think we need to leave work at work. When we go to the pub, let's go to the bloody pub. No business, just overpriced pints and greasy chips.”

Leon grinned. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Good, because I foresee many nights of drinking in our immediate future.”

Leon let his head drop onto the seat in front. “We might be drinking tonight if I can’t get the stove working again.”

“Nah, Merlin’ll wiggle his fingers and do a little jiggery pokery and all will be right as rain.”

“I don’t know how I feel about mixing magic and cooking.”

“This isn’t cooking.”

“It’s close enough. Bertha is a temperamental lady. I don’t know if she’d like some stranger poking at her insides.”

“I still can’t believe you named your oven.”

“Morgana thinks it’s cute.”

“She always did have questionable taste.” Arthur shook his head, reaching up to pull the bell cord.

The automated voice announced their stop. “The next stop is: Clifford Road.”

Leon stood and shuffled sideways out of his seat, feeling wobbly as ever when standing on a moving bus. Consistency was really an undervalued thing, he thought as the bus lurched sideways round a bend and he half fell against the disapproving granny’s shopping bags. You never valued just how firm the ground under your feet was until you tried walking on the upper deck of a bus.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, trying his best to right the bags without causing more damage.

“I think you’ve done enough,” she declared, grabbing a bag from his hands.

“Can’t win ’em all,” Arthur muttered, putting a hand on his back and pushing him forward.

They stumbled down the stairs and joined the queue making their way to the exit.

“I still can’t believe we had to go all the way across London for one little part,” said Arthur, turning up his collar against the wind. “Why the hell isn’t anything open in Clapham?”

“Fancy the DIY shops being closed on Christmas Eve – they just aren’t that popular a shopping destination for some reason.”

“It’s just annoying is all,” Arthur sighed. “If we had of known Bertha was going to kick it, I could have picked it up before I came in. We’re only about twenty minutes from our flat here.”

“Don’t worry, Arthur. It’s not like you planned this or anything.”

Arthur in the lead, the two trooped into the shopping centre. As expected, the place was jam packed with last-minute holiday shoppers. Men and women laden down with shopping bags cut channels through the crowd, their children trailing behind them. The line for the Costa stall thronged down half the hallway. Pressed on all sides, Arthur began to push sideways towards the DIY store, Leon keeping pace the best he could.

The crowd was thinner here but not by much; apparently some of the more desperate folks were indeed turning to lumber and plumbing fixtures for gifts.

“I don’t envy this lot,” Arthur commented as they passed a man holding up two identical screwdriver sets and asked his companion, ‘do you reckon Teresa would go for either of these?’

“You used to _be_ one of them,” Leon laughed.

“Past tense is the key there my scruffy friend. Merlin is such a nut for Christmas that he’s done all our shopping by the end of October.”

“You did remember to actually get Merlin something, yeah?” asked Leon, dubiously.

“Of course I did!” said Arthur, affronted as he dodged around a woman practically sprinting her cart down their aisle. “Thanks to Amazon Prime, Merlin’s presents arrived the day after I bought them.”

“Which was?”

“Yesterday.”

“There’s the Arthur I know and love.”

“You can lead a horse to water,” said Arthur, vaguely. “Is this the aisle we want?”

“Should be. If they don’t have an igniter, I don’t know what we’re going to do,” said Leon, his nerves beginning to jangle again. “Merlin double checked, no where else is open.”

“Fingers crossed then.”

They spent longer than Leon would have liked perusing all the different oven parts, but their searching paid off in the end.

“This is it!” he cried, triumphantly.

“Are you sure?” asked Arthur, skeptically.

“I have Bertha’s series number memorized.”

“Of course you do.”

“A good cook knows his tools. Now let's get out of this mad house.”

The walk to the checkout took, if possible, longer than their initial walk to the kitchen aisle. They got in line behind a harassed looking ginger-haired woman who was struggling to keep her three young children from impaling each other with makeshift PVC swords. She finally got them under control but not before one of them caught Arthur’s nose on the back swing.

“No really, it’s fine. I’m sure it’ll stop bleeding soon,” he said thickly through the wad of tissue he had pressed to his nose.

“They aren’t normally like this,” the woman smiled apologetically. “But winter break makes them go a bit feral.”

“As it should. Have a Happy Christmas.”

The woman gave them one more smile before pushing her trolley back into the crowd.

“That was very festive of you, Sir,” said the clerk by way of greeting. “I don’t think I’d be that polite if I got my nose smashed in.”

“Arthur here is an old hand at accidental injuries, aren’t you Arthur?” Leon grinned at him.

“My husband is a masterfully klutzy soul. I swear I’ve spent more time in A&E, having one or both of us checked on, since knowing him than I have in the entire twenty years before him.”

“That’s kind of sweet,” the clerk cooed at him.

“In a very smashy way, yes. What’s your return policy?” asked Arthur offhandedly.

“Thirty days with receipt and original packaging.”

“Arthur,” Leon frowned, “we’re literally going home and installing this right now. Why do you care about the return policy?”

“Uh, just thought it’d be good to know in case we ever needed to get something for the shop. Diversify our supplier pool.” Arthur shifted the tissue and looked away hastily.

“Right.” He shook his head and turned back to the cash. “Paying by Visa Debit please.”

“Would you like a bag for that?” asked the clerk.

“No, we’ll put it in my bag,” said Arthur, shrugging off his backpack.

Leon was nearly finished punching in his pin when Arthur gasped beside him.

“Oh fuck.”

Leon whipped to face him. “What?”

“Wait 'til we’re out of the line.” Arthur’s jaw was clenched as he grabbed their purchase and hustled towards the exit.

“Thank you!” Leon called over shoulder as he hurried after Arthur.

“You’re going to kill me,” said Arthur without waiting for Leon to ask. “But we need to stop at my flat on the way back.”

“Why?”

“Because I just realized I left Hunith’s water bill on the table and it needs to be paid _today_.”

“Back it up a little, because clearly I’m missing something,” Leon frowned. “Why are you paying Hunith’s water bill?”

“Because she’s at the horticulturist conference until late tonight and I offered to pay it for her when I took our bills in for the shop.”

“Are you telling me that we haven’t paid our bills for November yet?”

“Correct,” Arthur groaned, holding out an envelope for Leon to inspect.

“Arthur!”

“I know, and I’m sorry! I’ve been carrying them around for weeks to remember to go at lunch, but I’ve either been in meetings or working through.”

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s alright, you wouldn’t have been able to pay the shop bills without me anyway and I haven’t exactly been around much either. We’re still within that stupid sixty-day period where both signing authorities have to be present to access the funds.”

“But I can’t let Hunith down!” Arthur’s eyes were wide and panicked.

Leon pulled out his phone. 12:02 – he was already four hours behind schedule.

But then he thought about how hard Arthur had been working on getting the shop up and running – staying at work so late he had to take a night bus home, spending hour after hour in meetings with the bank and suppliers, driving all over the country to look at fridges and ventilation systems – all to make their dream shop come to life. Arthur wasn’t the forgetful type, but no one is infallible. And he right in that they couldn’t let Hunith down. He’d just have to modify his game plan; cut out a side or two, make a simpler dessert – everything would be fine.

“Of course we can’t let Hunith down. She’s Hunith! But let’s hurry, yeah?”

Arthur let out a breath Leon hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. “Mate,” he said, weakly.

“Family is family,” said Leon simply.

They extracted themselves from the throng as quickly as possible, Leon mapping the fastest route to Arthur’s flat while Arthur tried his best not to bleed out.

“The 212 gets us there in just over twenty minutes.”

“Beautiful,” Arthur groaned, sinking down on a bench covered in questionable stains. “I wouldn’t mind taking something for this.” He gestured at his nose.

The bleeding had stopped but he had a very visible slash across the bridge and a light bruising had started to flush across his face in deep scarlet.

“We should clean it at the bear minimum. Do you think it’s broken?” asked Leon, now feeling that their brief detour was more necessary than ever.

“I don’t know. The last time I broke it was in second year when I took a header to the face, and I blacked out so I don’t have a whole lot to go on.”

“Does it feel bad enough to go to A&E?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Even if it did – and it doesn’t – I’m not going to let a freakishly strong child bollocks up your Christmas spread.”

“I don’t want Merlin hating me for not forcing your dumb ass to get to the hospital.” Leon rolled his eyes. “For reasons that escape me, he’s awfully fond of your face.”

“We really need to work on your bedside manner,” said Arthur, rising to flag down the approaching bus.

“There’s a reason I went into baking, Arthur – pastry doesn’t talk back.”

They joined the queue shuffling onto the bus and were unceremoniously packed to a spot by the window. There wasn’t much opportunity for conversation as Arthur spent much of the journey with his head tucked into the armpit of a bloke even taller than Percy. Leon made the most of his time by texting back and forth with Merlin to check up the situation at home. Merlin, bless him, was doing his best to follow the parts of the battle plan that didn’t require any actual cooking.

“I feel unclean,” said Arthur, ruffling his hair after they stepped off the bus.

“Mmmm, but just think how good your shower is going to feel tonight,” Leon replied, quickening his pace to a jog.

The made good time down the high street, though Arthur did hold them up once by pausing to send a text.

“Really not the time, Arthur.”

“Sorry, it was Mordred. I just wanted to make sure the post office was still open.”

Arthur and Merlin lived in an unremarkable flat next to a dodgy path that youths liked to congregate on at night. Under normal circumstances, Leon liked to tease Arthur about living in a shit part of town, but his mounting panic at how much time they were losing made him hold his tongue as Arthur fitted the key in the lock.

“Give me a minute to clean this,” said Arthur as he dashed up stairs.

Leon took this as an opportunity to look around the sitting room. It was an odd feeling – one of familiarity mixed with a bit of wistful nostalgia. Before starting work on the shop, he and Morgana had been over here practically every weekend. Now though, the room was set up in a new configuration. A painting he’d never seen before hung on the wall. There were new photos in the frames on the mantle. He hadn’t realized just how long it had been since he’d been here. He wondered if their other friends had felt like they drifted away as well.

A knock at the door brought him out of his melancholy.

“Bloody hell, can you get that?” shouted Arthur from somewhere above him.

Leon crossed the room to the front door and pulled it open to reveal a group of preteens clustered around the entrance.

“Uh-.”

Before he could get much further, the smallest blonde girl opened her mouth and started to sing.

“Away in a manger, no crib for a bed…”

As the others joined in around her, the missing piece clicked into place. Singing. Christmas. Carollers. Leon’s wariness melted into surprise. Actual carollers at Christmas, like in a holiday special: this was adorable.

“Arthur,” Leon tried to say out of the corner of his mouth. “Get down here, you’re missing it.”

He debated getting his phone out to take a video for Morgana, but he didn’t know if that was considered bad form. The song came to an end before he could make up his mind and he conceded to applauding their performance.

“Well done!”

The children smiled at him expectantly, unspeaking. The dark-haired boy on the end rattled a tin wrapped in tinsel expectantly.

“Oh, of course! I suppose you’re collecting for charity.” Leon smiled back, pulling out his wallet to deposit a pound or two. The little blonde girl reached out to take the money from his hand, angelic smile on her face, and quick as a flash grabbed his wallet.

At once, the children scattered, some heading for the path, others on the main road. Leon, hand with the notes still outstretched, took a moment to process what the hell had just happened.

“OI!”

He heard a muffled, “what?” from Arthur as he charged out onto the street after the muggers. He opted to follow the blonde girl and her companion, hoping that she hadn’t tossed his wallet to another before departing. He said a silent prayer to any deities listening to not let him get arrested for chasing children – rotten, thieving children.

He rounded a corner in the path – how the hell were they so fast? – just in time to see the girl disappearing through the gate across the park. Coming to a halt, Leon put a steadying hand against a tree to catch his breath.

“What the fuck,” he said to no one.

How, _how_ was this his life? Mugged by adorable children was not a normal thing. This was the kind of shit that happened to Merlin. How was he supposed to explain this to the police? Would the police even believe him?

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, Leon looked up, half expecting the little bastards to be watching him from across the park, but he was completely alone save for a girl kneeling on the ground a little ways down from him. This girl hadn’t been part of the gang that robbed him (none of them were wearing a hijab) and Leon seriously doubted any of them would have risked stopping that close to him. Although it was odd for someone to be kneeling on the cold ground. He watched for a moment, and to his horror saw that her shoulders were shaking in what was unmistakably grief. His own troubles temporarily forgotten, he walked over to her.

“Are you alright?”

The girl startled at the sound of his voice and when she looked up at him there were visible tear tracks on her face.

“No,” she shuddered, “Polly is gone!”

“Sorry,” Leon kneeled down, “who?”

“Polly, my puppy! I was taking her for a walk and she took off running after a squirrel. She slipped out of her collar and she ran away.” The girl’s shaky voice dissolved into new sobs.

Leon took a cursory glance around the park. Sure enough, there was a distinct lack of wildlife.

“What kind of dog is she?”

“A puh-poodle,” the girl hiccupped.

“And what’s your name?” asked Leon, gently.

“Rashida.”

“I’m Leon. Rashida, I want you to take my phone and let your parents know what’s happening. I’m sure they’re very worried about you.”

“They’re at work,” she sniffed. “My brother was supposed to come with me but he’s playing basketball with his friends.”

“Typical,” Leon muttered. “Well at least take this.” He handed her a tissue as he dialed a number off by heart.

“Where the hell are you?” asked Arthur by way of greeting. “I heard you shout and came downstairs to find my front door open and you gone. I’ve been out on the street looking for you, I thought you’d been kidnapped!”

“Close – I was mugged by children.”

“What?!”

“No but listen, there’s a girl in the park and she’s lost her dog Polly and we need to help her find it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Of course we do.”

It was a true mark of their friendship that Arthur accepted Leon’s brief explanation without questioning it. He made it to the park in less than a minute, and after a hurried introduction they devised a battle plan.

“Rashida, I want you to stay in this park. You can walk around the perimeter and call out for Polly, but you should be here in case she finds her way back.”

Rashida nodded, cheeks still stained with salt tracks but a determined glint in her eye.

“Arthur, you do the streets. Stick as close as you can to the park.” Leon’s eyes drifted over Rashida’s small frame and Arthur nodded, knowing exactly what was going through Leon’s mind without needing to ask. After all, it was getting dark.

“Where are you going to go?” asked Arthur, turning up his collar against the wind.

“I’m going to try the graveyard. It’s the only open space around here apart from the park.” And the only place they’d have a hope in hell of finding the thing. “Keep your phone on you and call if you find her.”

Rashida gave one final wipe to her nose before turning to search the far corners of the park. Arthur exchanged a wary glance with Leon but dutifully turned for the exit.

Wind making his hair flop with every step, he set off on the path that would take him to the graveyard. They didn’t have time for this. They didn’t have time for anything that happened today. But at this point, did it really matter if they got the turkey in the oven? He could just stay up and cook it overnight – it wouldn’t be the first time he pulled an overnighter for culinary perfection, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. And it wasn’t everyday he leant his services to literally find a lost puppy.

It was a short walk across a (thankfully) deserted road. If Polly had come this way, she probably hadn’t run into any traffic. He entered the graveyard through an ornate iron gate (were poodles small enough to slip through the bars?) and started down the path.

He was pleasantly surprised to see that so many of the graves had flowers on them. It was nice that many people were still visiting their loved ones in a world where the media claimed everyone was selfish and technology obsessed.

He moved between the stones, careful not to step on any bouquets, checking around every headstone and obelisk for his wayward quarry. It wasn’t until he peered around a particularly obnoxious headstone with a giant cherub on top that he found what he was looking for: cheerfully ripping apart a crisp packet, oblivious to the turmoil she was causing, was a tiny brown poodle.

“Polly?” Leon asked tentatively.

The poodle cocked it’s head at him but remained where it lay.

Leon had never had a dog growing up, and with Morgana’s allergies, had very little experience with dogs in general. He had however, seen enough Lifetime holiday specials to know what to say.

“Do you want a _treat_?”

Apparently, Lifetime spoke the truth, as the word was no sooner out of his mouth than the dog was on it’s feet, tongue hanging happily out of her mouth. Very slowly, Leon put a hand into his jacket pocket, and, making the least amount of noise possible, pulled out a piece of the Christmas flavoured beef jerky.

The effect was instantaneous. Rearing up on her hind legs like a dancing bear, Polly stretched forward, every muscle in her body concentrated on getting to the treat. Leon lowered his hand and Polly’s ears folded back as she gobbled the jerky strip whole. Without waiting for her to finish, Leon’s hand shot forward and he folded the pup up into his arms. She was surprisingly docile about the whole thing - it seemed treats won out over concerns for personal safety.

“Wow.”

He should really work on selling the rights to make his life into a film. Bundling the puppy safely inside his jacket, he started back towards the park.

“Polly!” was the shriek that greeted him when he returned.

Rashida ran at him so fast that he barely had time to get Polly out of his coat before she was on them. Polly’s tail wagged so hard it looked almost cartoon-like and she went happily into the arms of her owner.

“I can’t believe it,” said Arthur, completely gobsmacked. “I can’t fu-,” Leon scowled at him, “fudging believe it. Mate, it’s a Christmas miracle!”

“Thank you so much for finding her!” Rashida beamed, eyes shining with tears again.

“No need for thanks. We were happy to help.” Leon smiled back. “Are you okay to get home by yourself?”

“Yeah,” Rashida laughed, Polly busy trying to lick up her nose. “We live on the far side of the park.”

“Go straight home then, before Polly sees another squirrel.”

“And get your parents to buy her a harness – much harder to slip than a collar,” Arthur advised.

“Say bye Polly.” Rashida lifted one of Polly’s paws and flopped it back and forth in a wave. “Thank you again for all your help.”

With one last smile at them both, she set off towards the gate.

“Well that was certainly something,” said Arthur, watching Rashida’s retreating form.

“That it was,” Leon agreed. “Now, to the post-office: we’ve got some bills to pay!”

The journey to the post office was largely uneventful. In true London fashion, it began to rain, but nothing more than a light drizzle. The post office where Mordred worked was in Trafalgar Square which, for Trafalgar Square anyway, was blissfully empty. Only a modicum of tourists remained, taking selfies with the giant thumb on the Fourth Plinth and getting yelled at by the soggy guard for trying to climb the lion statues.

They splashed their way down the street, past the pub, and skidded to a halt in front of the post office – quite literally as the rain had begun to freeze in places. Mordred watched them through the windows, rolling his eyes as Leon caught hold of the door handle to keep himself upright.

“We are actually closed you know,” said Mordred, pushing the door open for them. “I’m the only one still here and I’m not getting paid for this.”

“Yes,” Arthur replied, shaking his wet hair off his forehead, “and I love you for it.”

“I’m doing it for Hunith.” Mordred shrugged. “She’s a kind auntie who doesn’t deserve to have her water cut off over Christmas.”

“I don’t care, you’re still my new favourite.” Arthur batted his eyelashes at him and Mordred pretended to throw up.

“Quit being cute and pay your damn bill, I’ve got an oven to fix,” said Leon, pulling out the back-up copy of his (slightly soggy) masterplan.

“And I’ve got somewhere to be,” said Mordred, pointedly.

“Oh, got a date?” asked Leon, only half listening as he wept internally over his abandoned schedule. It would take him forty minutes to get home, if he could get the oven fixed in twenty minutes that would still give him enough time to get the bird done before midnight. Then he could work on making the dough for the cookies and have it set overnight. The trouble of course would be the sides, though from the sound of it, Merlin had gotten through quite a lot of the chopping. He could always leave the veg in water overnight and focus on…

“I’m just saying, it’s not very responsible of you,” Mordred chided as he stamped the paperwork.

“If you keep up this attitude I shan’t be hiring you. I don’t care if you are my cousin-in-law, I refuse to be sassed by my employees.”

“Oh Arthur, if you enforce that rule we won’t be able to keep staff longer than a week,” Leon sighed, pen tapping on the side of his face.

“Oi!”

“You’re just so damn teasable, look at you, you’re turning red right now!” Mordred laughed.

“We sass because we care,” said Leon, folding his list carefully. “Now are we just about done?”

Mordred held out his pen. “I just need a signature and you can be on your merry way.”

“And you swear this will be delivered before the cut-off date?”

“Yes.”

Arthur scowled.

“Jesus, do you want to watch me put it in the bag? I promise it will be delivered before the cut-off date.”

“Just sign it,” Leon growled.

“No need to get snippy,” said Arthur, pen scrawling gracefully across the signature line.

“Bless you Mordred, truly,” said Leon, turning to go.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Mordred shook his head, “I mean tomorrow.”

“Dear God, do _not_ come tonight,” Leon chuckled. “Not unless you want to see a grown man crying while basting a turkey.”

“No, we’ll see him _tomorrow_ ,” Arthur glared at Mordred. “Don’t forget to bring the crackers.”

“I’ve got them right here-”

Leon frowned. “Why do you have the crackers here?”

“He bought them at the shop next store,” said Arthur abruptly.

“But I requested the Waitro-”

“Sacrifices had to be made,” said Arthur, putting two hands on Leon’s back and pushing him bodily out of the building, “Mordred can grovel for forgiveness _tomorrow_.”

“What kind of sacrifice is it to pop into Waitrose and grab some crackers? He lives right beside one, I thought that was the reason we assigned him cracker duty.”

“Yeah well you know how it is, oh look my phone is ringing, isn’t that convenient, hello?” said Arthur in a voice quite unlike his own.

“Walk and talk, walk and talk,” Leon muttered. He set off back down the street that would lead them to Charing Cross.

“Yeah, we got a bit waylaid on the way back, but we’ve got the ignition unit so we’re heading to the train now,” said Arthur, jogging to catch up to Leon. “What do you mean ‘I need to go to Boots’?”

Leon stopped dead and turned around so fast his hair smacked him in the face. Arthur had stopped a couple of feet behind him, an expression of absolute horror on his face.

“Leon, are there carrots in the stuffing?”

“Yes.”

“He says yes. Why on earth weren’t you wearing gloves? You know how dumb your allergies are!” Arthur half shouted into the phone.

You didn’t need to be psychic to fill in the missing parts of the conversation. Merlin, king of medical abnormalities, suffered from a rare but mild allergy to carrots. He could still eat them, but contact with them made him extremely itchy.

“What do you mean you forgot to take your pill this morning!?” Arthur ran a hand through his hair.

Leon mouthed ‘Boots’ to him and they started walking again.

“Luckily for you Leon has the patience of a saint and there’s a Boots in the bloody station,” Arthur sighed. “We’re on our way there now, just waiting to cross the street – try not to rub up against any rutabaga before we get home.”

Arthur slid his phone back into his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him and you’re going to have to sell my half of the business to pay for my bail money.”

“Walk,” said Leon, grabbing hold of Arthur’s elbow and pulling him into the crosswalk.

“How can he just _forget_ to take the thing that makes him able to get through life as a functional human being?” Arthur ranted. “How has he stayed alive this long?”

“It won’t be for much longer if you’ve started forgetting things too. Case and point: the water bill.”

“That is a totally different set of circumstances,” Arthur gesticulated wildly. “We’ve been busy and sometimes these things fall through the cracks. This is a bloody _medication_ that stops his skin from being itchy to extreme that it feels good to rub _sandpaper on it_.”

“You probably shouldn’t let him rub himself with sandpaper,” Leon commented mildly. “That sounds dangerous.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I do,” said Leon, pulling open the door for Arthur, “now go be a good husband and save your man from taking construction material to his arms.”

Buying Merlin’s antihistamines was apparently a routine activity for Arthur, as he stomped to precisely the right point in the aisle and took all of two seconds to find the correct package.

“You two are lucky, I was just about to close up,” the cashier beamed at them.

Words, it seemed, had left Arthur temporarily as he only managed to grunt in return.

“It’s been a very long day,” said Leon, apologetically.

They were ushered from the shop by a distinctly less-smiley cashier who slammed the lock shut behind them as soon as they crossed the threshold.

“Let’s see if our spectacularly bad luck is going to spread to the train times,” said Leon chipperly.

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur moaned. “This day has been a disaster. I don’t know how literally everything managed to go wrong.”

“Your nose is bleeding again,” Leon commented drily. “At least we found Rashida’s puppy.”

Arthur fished a tissue out of his pocket while Leon scanned the schedules.

“Looks like the spell is finally broken! There’s a train we can take that leaves in five minutes.”

Arthur shoved the tissue firmly up his nostril. “Brilliant.”

There were no freak earthquakes, and no lightning storms hit as they crossed the station to platform four. It wasn’t until they reached the barrier and Arthur pulled out his Oyster card that Leon remembered his wallet had been stolen.

“Oh fuck.”

Luck, it appeared, was still on their side. After a mad dash to the ticket machine, they made it onto the train with seconds to spare. It was so close that the bottom of Leon’s long coat got caught in the doors as they closed with an angry woosh. He was spared the awkward British apology for holding up the train as the doors reopened and closed again, free of obstruction, as there was no one else in the carriage.

“Wonderful,” said Arthur, clearly also taking stock of the situation. He flopped down on two seats, his legs spanning the aisle into the neighbouring booth. “I’m going to lie here and try to not to bleed to death. Wake me up when we pull into Clapham Junction.”

“Okay.”

It had been an extremely weird day. It was all clearly Sainsbury’s fault for not keeping their cranberry section better stocked. If Arthur had of found them in one of the shops on his way over, Leon wouldn’t have left the flat and he could have sent Arthur to fetch the ignition unit by himself.

Outside the train, London passed by in a black haze. The sun had set hours ago, good old 3:30 pm December sunsets, and lamps were few and far between on this section of track. The little patches of illuminated scenery he could see seemed to be obscured by specks of…something? It was falling to slowly to be rain and it was too wet out for it to be dust.

“Arthur, wake up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s snowing.”

Arthur flung himself into an upright position and whipped round to look out his window.

“Aw.”

Right on cue, the train pulled onto the bridge, giving them a spectacular view of the Thames and the South Bank covered in a light dusting of snow.

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Leon.

“Yeah,” said Arthur, sounding similarly awestruck.

Fat flakes drifted down lazily, clinging to every surface as far as the eye could see.

“It looks like we’re going have a proper Christmas for once,” said Arthur happily.

The words had no sooner left his mouth than the train screeched to a halt, throwing them both into the seats in front.

The loudspeaker crackled to life. “Apologies for the emergency stop, but this train is now out of service due to inclement weather. Passengers are instructed to exit using the west side doors and walk along the bridge to Waterloo station. I repeat, this train is now out of service due to inclement weather.”

Leon’s head dropped into his hands at the same time Arthur yelled, “are you fucking joking?”

The doors slid open wordlessly in response.

“It’s just snow!” Arthur continued to yell. “It’s literally just cold rain. We live in a country _made_ of rain.”

“Arthur.”

“Why can’t we just get off _at_ Waterloo? In what world is it safer to disembark _onto the tracks_ and _walk_ to the station.”

His will to live draining by the second, Leon stood up and crossed to the doors. There were only a couple of other confused looking passengers exiting the train: a smartly dressed man who looked just as outraged as Arthur, and a mother trepidatiously lifting her daughter down from the carriage.

“Arthur.”

“No, I’m staying here,” said Arthur, sounding increasingly hysterical. “I refuse to get off this train. I don’t care, I’ll sign a waiver or something saying it was my own fault for staying on a train bound to fly off the rails because of the snow.”

“Arthur.”

“There is no power on earth that can make me leave this seat.”

Five minutes and one scolding from the very red-faced conductor later, Arthur moodily stomped along behind Leon down the tracks.

“I’m calling an Uber,” Arthur grumbled.

“Wait until we get off the tracks, it’ll just confuse them if you do it now.”

“I’m doing it now and they can call if they have any questions,” said Arthur darkly.

Leon didn’t say anything in response, too preoccupied trying to figure out how best to salvage the evening. Perhaps it would just be easier to wake up at four and cook the turkey the day of. It would certainly be juicier that way.

Shockingly, they managed to hail an Uber without issue and were soon skidding around the snow-covered corners. Privately, Leon thought they should probably drive a little slower but Arthur’s dark mutterings about not ruining Christmas and their driver’s repeated assurances that everyone drove like this in ‘Mother Russia’ made him hold his tongue. They arrived home with perhaps a few more grey hairs than they started with, but otherwise in one piece.

“Hristos se rodi!” their driver boomed, waving from the window of his car.

Leon waved back, walking backwards up the steps.

“Careful, you might slip and break your neck in all this snow,” Arthur muttered.

“Now now. We made it; against all odds, we somehow made it. There’s no need to be salty on this the eve of Christmas.”

“I love your optimism,” Arthur shook his head. “A night of cooking ahead of us and you’re still positive.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Ahead of _us_?”

“Don’t be thick, I’m not going to let you stay up into the wee hours by yourself.” Arthur looked at him like Leon had lost his mind. “It’s my fault we lost the entire afternoon, fuck, you got _mugged_ because we had to make a stop at my flat – which by the way, the first thing you’re doing when we get inside is calling the police and reporting it. I didn’t think of it earlier because of the dog drama, but like, you need your wallet.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “This is all a very long-winded way of saying Merlin and I are going to stay as long as it takes to get everything cooked to your very high level of satisfaction.”

“Mate,” said Leon gruffly.

“Brothers don’t let brothers suffer alone, especially not at Christmas.” Arthur slapped a hand roughly on his shoulder.

“We need to stop before this turns into any more of a Hallmark moment,” Leon laughed.

“Well get the door open then!”

It took him a moment to get his keys out and select the right one as the light was out (Morgana evidently hadn’t made it back from the airport yet) but the first thing Leon registered after stepping across the threshold was the smell of roasted garlic. The garlic scented air itself wasn’t unusual, but the roasting, considering he hadn’t turned the stove on this morning was.

“What in the-”

The lights flicked on to reveal around a dozen people standing in the dining room.

“Surprise!”

Leon staggered backwards into Arthur, who had somehow managed to not jump out of his skin.

“Merry Christmas, Leon!” squealed Gwen, running forward to pull him into a hug.

“What she said,” Gwaine winked and pulled them both into a crushing embrace.

“Don’t worry, Leon, I promise I didn’t burn any of your pans!” grinned Merlin.

“I’m so confused,” said Leon.

“Use your eyes, Darling,” called Morgana from the back of the group, a half-drunk glass of red wine in her hand.

“I, what?”

“This,” said Mordred excitedly, gesturing to the well-laden dining room table.

If Leon hadn’t have been propped up by Gwen and Gwaine he would have fallen over again. The table was absolutely packed full of plates and tureens, all bearing various components of what promised to be a delicious feast. There were mounds of mash, heaps of roasted veg, a mountain of Yorkshires, tubs of stuffing, and, at the very center of it all, a positively golden turkey.

“Who did this?” he asked, weakly.

“We all did!” said Percy brightly. “We all felt bad that you do the entire meal every year but we knew you’d never let us help if we asked. So we divided it up and everyone did a part.”

“Speaking of,” said Arthur, “here.” He pulled the can of cranberries out of his bag and tossed it to Percy. “Just in case.”

Things were slowly falling into place for Leon.

“I can’t believe this!” He rounded on Arthur. “I can’t believe you knew and managed to keep it a secret all day!”

“Knew? He’s the bloody mastermind behind the whole thing,” said Morgana with a smirk on her face.

“Seriously?”

“You never ask for help,” said Arthur sheepishly. “You take on far more work that is humanly possible to accomplish and you somehow manage to do it anyway. We’ve both been balls deep in getting the shop open for so long that it just didn’t seem fair to make you cook your usual feast. We wanted you to just relax for the holiday.”

“Relax?” Leon’s voice cracked. “You do realize we went on an absolutely mad adventure today?”

“Oh, that was definitely bonkers,” Arthur conceded. “But I refuse to believe you’d be any less stressed thinking about who was burning what and whose house you should just pop over to check up on.”

Leon opened his mouth to argue the point but then thought better of it.

“Anyway, if you lot would give us just a foot more space we could get our coats off and get feasting,” said Arthur with just a hint of impatience.

“I’ll get the plates!” said Elena, bounding towards the kitchen.

“Elena, sweetie, no,” said Morgana, sounding alarmed.

“I’m on it,” said Will, following her into the kitchen.

Merlin pushed his way to the front of the group. “Arthur, before you take your coat off, can I have my pills please?”

Arthur froze mid boot pull. “Wait, you actually _need_ your pills? That wasn’t just to waste more time?”

“No,” said Merlin, slowly. “I really did forget to take it this morning.”

“Oh my God.” Arthur slumped against the wall. “You’re not going to make it to thirty, are you?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’m just a bit itchy, don’t be so dramatic.”

“Says the man who will literally die if he touches grass with his bare skin,” Arthur muttered as he handed over the pill packet.

“Wait,” said Leon, finally putting two and two together. “All of the dumb things that happened today were staged? The cranberries? Bertha breaking? The _mugging_?”

“Yup,” said Arthur, proudly. “Apart from the snow – I can’t claim power over the weather – and  Merlin’s bit of idiocy, everyone did a little something. Gwaine came up with the cranberry thing because he’s the only one of us who cares as much about food as you do. And it’s surprisingly easy to get the store staff on board when you tell them about your heartwarming holiday prank.”

Across the room, Gwaine winked.

“Morgana suggested having something go wrong with Bertha because she’s secretly jealous of how much you dote on your oven.”

From the kitchen, Morgana hollered, “it’s not a secret.”

“Mordred of course was responsible for the utility bill scam, which by the way, was only half a lie. I really did pay the bill today, but they aren’t due til January.”

“And I really was cross about staying late for no pay and being in danger of missing the surprise reveal,” Mordred interjected. “What took you two so long, you were supposed to be there by four?”

“We got held up after the mugging – Gwen’s students FYI, she’s got your wallet – on a quest for a lost puppy.” Arthur frowned. “Who’s was that anyway? I don’t remember that being on the schedule?”

“What lost puppy?” asked Mithian.

“A little girl lost her dog in the park near my flat and Leon found it for her.” Arthur scanned the room. “Rashida? Polly? Ring any bells?”

The action ground to a momentary halt as everyone looked round at each other.

“I didn’t do it.”

“Wasn’t me.”

“I don’t even know anyone with a dog.”

There was a stunned silence as the truth of the matter sunk in.

“Leon, you’re an absolute legend!” laughed Gwen.

“Fucking hell,” muttered Arthur.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” said Merlin.

“So I’ve been told. I…this is just a lot to process,” said Leon shakily.

“Quite right,” said Arthur, snapping out of his reverie and clasping two hands on Leon’s shoulders. “Someone get this man a plate.”

Morgana came forward and slipped her arm through Leon’s, leading him towards the table. “Have a sip, Darling, you need this more than I do.”

“Someone needs to carve the turkey,” said Freya.

“Merlin cooked it, he should do it,” said Elyan.

“Absolutely not,” replied Arthur sharply.

“I think Leon should do it,” said Merlin, pointedly ignoring Arthur’s comment.

“Quite frankly, I don’t think I should be trusted with knives right now either.” Leon laughed.

“I’ll do it,” said Elena.

“No,” said half a dozen people at once.

“Percy can do it,” said Arthur. “He’s got the biggest arms and therefore the most cutting power.”

“Arthur, why is your nose bleeding?” asked Merlin, looking concerned.

Arthur locked eyes with Leon across the table. “That, my dear, is a story Leon will be more than happy to tell you over dinner; but now, we feast!”


End file.
